The Angel of Death spoke to Jesse with a deep baritone that seemed to grate on his bones. This was, of course, a dream. Jesse remembered being shot, and riding on a boat with the reaper on some river in the afterlife. But Jesse knew he was rejected by death, a fact which the reaper never failed to mock him for. Whether he was an instrument for the reaper to carry out his will, or simply a dancing monkey for the reaper's own amusement, Jesse did not know. What he did know, was he had been shot in places that killed, but he was not dead. 

Jesse's eyes flicked open to a gray sky, in an alleyway. Things seemed off immediately. The buildings which surrounded him were...pristine. They were cracked and weathered, but not crumbling. Where was he? He then noticed giant metal creatures which carried people, and realized he had seen the corpses of such things before. Where he was from, people knew the rusted carapaces of these things once ran, but nobody could be bothered to fix them. He was in another territory, perhaps The Texes, or a place like it. The neighborhood he was in wasn't particularly friendly, but it wasn't as bad as he was used to. He wondered the impoverished and sketchy neighborhood.